


The Calm Before The Storm

by PinstripesAndConverse



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Kingdom of Heaven (2005)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, I'm not entirely sure why this came about, Sadness, Ten re-visits someone a previous incarnation did, experiment of sorts, has potential ooc-ness for Ten, hint at canon character death, not entirely historically accurate in terms of character portrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:44:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinstripesAndConverse/pseuds/PinstripesAndConverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tenth Doctor visits King Baldwin IV, who is nearing his death after events at Kerak.  A moment of peace before battle breaks out and blood is spilt.  One-shot drabble.  Crossover between Doctor Who and Kingdom of Heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Calm Before The Storm

In the dim corridors of the palace, a strange blue box appeared, fitting perfectly into a niche. The door squeaked open and a man’s bespectacled head peered out, checking to make sure the coast was clear before stepping out. The decorative patterns on the walls danced in the torchlight as his dirty white trainers touched twelfth-century stone. 

Late twelfth century Jersusalem, actually. If he were to be precise, as he was, it was 1185 and he had arrived just in time.

The Doctor had stopped to fulfill a promise he had made several regenerations ago, a mere eight years for the man he was visiting. Considering he was on his self-titled farewell tour, this stop was fitting. He smoothed out his pinstriped suit and ran a hand through his gravity-defying hair before setting off down the hall in search of the royal chambers.

He came to an outdoor pathway, the lattice-work casting beautiful shadows on the wall in the golden light of sunset. Below, the sounds of the city could still be heard. Merchants packing up, bells in the distance ringing for the hour, horses nickering and trotting along, the occasional conversation. The air was cool, carrying the smells of incense, smoke, and a dozen other things likely unnoticed by the inhabitants. 

The guards at the door prevented the Doctor from passing; a flash of psychic paper told them he was a physician, coming to check on the King. He knew he hardly passed for one of Saladin’s physicians, but at this hour, it likely wouldn’t matter too much. They kept him back until a figure in white came out: the bishop. The older man looked frustrated by his duties and cast a confused look at the stranger he passed before sinking back into his anger.

After a gesture from the guards, the Doctor passed through the threshold and down another corridor that opened up into a room lit by candles and the setting sun. A figure swaddled in fresh bandages and a dark robe settled onto the bed off to the side. The face was obscured by a mask of silver, forged long ago for the Leper King. A face to hide behind as his flesh rotted away. Harsh, shallow breaths echoed through the silent chamber, muffled by the metal; it probably did not help much at this point to have it on, the Doctor thought. 

Blue eyes, tired but still full to the brim with the strength to make it through the night, fell on him and stared. The Doctor was well aware of the King’s poor eyesight, another thing to be snatched from him by the leprosy. He likely saw colors, vague shapes, light, and hardly anything more.

“Who are you?” His voice echoed the exhaustion he was fighting but held the authority it retained until his passing. “I do not recognize you.”

“We have met, Majesty.” The Doctor said, watching the King’s eyes narrow as he placed the accent belonging to many western visitors. “Many years ago. I made a promise to return one day to the boy who defeated Saladin eight years ago. Different voice, different face, but still me.”

“Oh.” Revelation sparkled through the dying man’s eyes as his head nodded weakly. “Yes, how could I forget you, Doctor?”

The stranger offered a smile, more of a comfort to himself than anything. He approached the bed and knelt on one knee to be eye-level with the King. “That would be me, sire.”

“I was hoping you would come, although your timing is hardly ideal. I am in no shape to greet you, old friend.”

The Doctor removed his glasses, hastily shoving them in his jacket pocket. “Don’t worry yourself over that, Your Majesty. How is your sister? And Balian, has he…made his way to Jerusalem?” The Doctor knew the answer, of course.

The two spoke as they had years previously, of people and events, society, ideas. The King removed his mask, hesitantly but knew it would be easier to continue without it. Ever since Baldwin was a boy, the Doctor would visit once a year, every year. After Montgisard, the visits stopped entirely. While he never minded terribly, for he of all people knew how busy life could be at times, he always wondered why one of the few individuals to bother with him beyond his disease left him. 

This version was chattier than he recalled, gesticulating wildly and going off on tangents the King could not keep up with. Nonsense, some of it, mentions of what sounded like other worlds, other species and races, other times. He had long ago faced an inability to do what those around him could, came to terms with not even making it to twenty-five years of age. Yet a longing stirred within him to be able to do what the stranger beside him did, dart around and see miraculous things and take in the wonders of the universes. He cursed his disease, cursed God’s design for him. There was still so much to do and he was fated to die before he saw the age of thirty. Yet the anger gave way to acceptance, as it always did. 

With such proximity, Baldwin was able to see the Doctor’s features, so different than the one who came before. Brown eyes burned with a fire unable to be quenched, carried a heavy burden. Tiredness, sadness that only came with losing those close to him, age beyond his physical appearance with knowledge hardly anyone else held. These were present in his older incarnation but far more subtle; now, they shined as his mask did when polished, like water glistening in the sun. 

“Have you lost someone, Doctor?” The question was offered in a moment of passing silence between conversations.

The Doctor’s brow furled, one side of his mouth tugging into a frown. “Oh, I’ve lost many people. But haven’t we all, Majesty? Such is the way of life.”

Baldwin did not press further. The Doctor’s pain was his own and he did not desire to share it. 

Perhaps it was better that way.

“And what of that box you travel in? The blue one you always said was bigger on the inside?”

“My TARDIS? I’ve still got her. Fixed her a bit, tweeked some parts a bit. One of her, uh, levers was getting stuck and I was constantly being sent to places that only offered a monochromatic environment. Fascinating, of course, but a bit boring after the third time ‘round...”

The King nodded slowly again, fighting to stay awake. The last weeks had been agonizing, draining him of any strength he found himself having since his public act of shaming Reynald. It was harder to stay awake for longer periods of time now. Soon it would not matter, for it would be all at an end shortly.

“I’m sorry, old friend, but I find myself weaker than expected. I tire more quickly than usual these days.”

“Of course. I won’t keep you any longer than. Sleep well, Majesty.” The Doctor rose from his knees and slipped his hands into his pants pockets. “What’s the phrase…ah, as-salaam-alaykum.”

“Wa ‘alaykum al-salaam. And may peace be with you, Doctor.”

  


The doors of the TARDIS closed behind him, drowning out the silence beyond them. 

A steady hum kept him company as the Doctor walked around the console, flipping switches and pressing buttons, pulling levers. He pulled out his glasses again to take a look at the screen above the captain’s chair, checking any nearby signals as the machine de-materialized to head to another location, another time. He leaned on the console, shoving the monitor away from him harder than he meant to.

He had felt this so many times before. An urge to shove the rules the Time Lords made. He was a Time Lord after all, exceptions were meant to be created and rules meant to be broken. How could they apply to him when he helped create them, when he was the last of them all?

A king, a mere human, was a victim of circumstance. A trip to the twenty-first century, some medication, and his problem would have been solved fourteen years ago. If he had his way…

He couldn’t. The King was a man of his time; to extend his life meant changing the course of history as it was known. Saladin would still sack Jerusalem, Richard the Lionheart would still go back to reclaim the land, but Baldwin’s death was, as much as he hated to admit it, crucial for the path of Jerusalem now.

In another universe, he had lived a longer life, continued peace with the Muslim leader. 

So much potential ripped from its roots before it had time to grow. He was ahead of his time, offering rights to all denominations, working towards peace with Saladin. 

The Doctor sighed and stared up at the column, glowing teal with energy, smiling fondly. “Where to next, old girl?”

**Author's Note:**

> I had written a different version of this a while back; I re-wrote it from scratch because the first one bothered me a lot.
> 
> Every year, I watch Kingdom of Heaven on my winter break and am left feeling a little empty after the funeral scene. I wanted to try and re-work it and I'm a little more satisfied with the end result.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
